


Rifts are Stupid

by Viking_woman



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 11:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14736255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viking_woman/pseuds/Viking_woman
Summary: Mira Lavellan is no stranger to pain. It is part of life as a warrior – delivering and receiving, from training aches and scrapes, to the bitter stench of death. This pain, however, is fucked up.It burns. It lingers. Her whole arm feels like its on fire, and there is nothing she can do to make it go away. She clenches her jaw and puts on a smile.





	Rifts are Stupid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [natsora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natsora/gifts).



> This is a give-away fic for @natsora on tumblr, who wanted to see some hurt/comfort with a female warrior Lavellan and Sera.

Mira Lavellan is no stranger to pain. It is part of life as a warrior – delivering and receiving, from training aches and scrapes, to the bitter stench of death. This pain, however, is fucked up.

It burns. It lingers. Her whole arm feels like its on fire, and there is nothing she can do to make it go away. She clenches her jaw and puts on a smile.

They had closed a big rift a few hours earlier, and closing rifts is generally unpleasant, a tingling of foreign magic down her arm, at least until the rifts close and the pain subsides.  

The pain, the sensation, doesn’t last hours. Except when it does apparently, because she can still feel the aftermath of the last one, like violent vibrations in her bones. Or maybe the pain is just from the beating he shield arm took, the demons kept pouring out of the rift.

It is probably nothing a good night sleep won’t fix. No big deal. Right now she will enjoy Blackwell’s stew – it turns out the man is a surprisingly good cook - and ignore this. She has a gash on her leg to fix, and some maps to go over.

 

The next day, it’s worse. Fuck. That isn’t how it’s supposed to work. Mira clenches her hand, the anchor sputtering, angry green lightning in the morning air. Did it always do so? She swears and she puts on her armor. She isn’t going to help anyone by complaining, and it is not nearly as bad as when she closed the breach.

She doesn’t feel like talking as they make their way to the campsite Harding marked on their map. Luckily, Varric and Dorian seem fine holding a conversation of their own. Will anything shut Varric up, ever? She clenches her jaw, and a group of bandits is welcome distraction. She can still swing her sword and lift her shield.

After they have established the camp, they set out for Skyhold. Mira decides they are heading back before investigating all the Red Lyrium, the eerie columns thrust into the open air making this look like some fucked up hahren’s tale. She doesn’t want to deal with it, so they don’t. She still isn’t sure why she is the one to make the call, but the others simply go to saddle up. Her arm hurts and Fen’Harel can take all this fucking snow. They’re leaving.

She heaves herself into the saddle of her hart, wincing when her shoulder pulls back. Just a little longer, and she can go hide in her room until this goes away. Or someone drags her out.

“You doing ok there, Pointy?” Varric looks concerned.

“I’m fine.” She really is, if just this pain would stop, but it is not like Varric can do anything about it.

“Just asking, just asking.” Varric holds up his hands in some form of surrender, and thankfully doesn’t ask any more questions.

 

It’s better, once they are back at Skyhold, when she is unfrozen and warm from a nice bath. It still hurts a little -  maybe more than a little, but Mira is sure it’s better. Well enough that she doesn’t want to sit and mope in her ridiculous quarters alone. She decides to go look for Sera. Sera is always good company, funny, and pretty, and interesting. She is just the distraction Mira needs.

Sera is happy to see her, and together the climb all the way to the top of one of the derelict towers. They sit against the wall, their legs warm against each other, the air chilling their faces. It makes everything hurt less.

Soon enough, Sera launches into one of her wild tales. Something about a cruel nobleman and his clueless mistress and a goat and a snake. It sounds insane and the pain has faded to a dull throb, and she wishes they could fight Corypheous tomorrow and kill him and then she could go off adventures with Sera, somewhere. She has never been to a real big city – other than looking out of place in Val Royeaux.

“What about you Inky – Mira-Belle – story? Got some, I bet! As long as it’s not too elfy.”

To punctuate, Sera leans over, and lightly punches Mira’s shoulder. Her left one. She flinches, she can’t help it. The pain stabs her, like a million tiny knives in her arm.

“Sorry, not like that! a little elfy is ok. Like - did you ever let loose a bunch of those hoofed thingies?”

“Halla? No – I, they don’t… it doesn’t matter.” She shakes her head, and pushes the pain away. It will pass, and Sera won’t know. “We once let out the cows on some dairy farm. It was… a long story.”

Her thoughts are scattered, unlike the stupid cows who didn’t go anywhere, just stood there. It is a funny story, really, if only she could tell it right.

“Cows, what? Tell it!”

Sera nudges her again, and this time she can’t help it, a yelp escapes her lips as the agony shakes her arm. Fuck, she wants to scream again, and maybe she does, and then she puts her head between her legs.

“You’re not good.”

“It will pass, sorry, Sera.”

“Don’t be sorry – do something!”

She doesn’t want to make big deal out of it, and what can be done, really? The words of refusal are stuck in her throat and she just shakes her head.

Sera gets up and put her hands on her hip.

“You’re coming with me,” she says. When Mira stays seated, Sera grabs her arm and pulls her along. Her fucking left arm, and she yelps in pain.

“Don’t touch it!  _Fenedhis_!”

“See! You’re not good. It’s all tits over arse, fucked up magic shite!”

“You’re right about that, I guess.” Mira winces, and pulls her arm close to her body. She rubs it with her other hand, trying to get the jittery pain to leave.

Sera pauses and scowls at Mira, or maybe at her hand.

“You’re not going to go all ‘grrr, arrghh, flash, demons’ on me, are you?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Good. Now let’s go.”

This time, Sera gestures instead of grabbing her, and Mira follows dutifully along, across the courtyard to the main keep, through the door to the bottom of the tower where Solas keeps his desk.

“Oy! Elfy! Inky needs your help!”

Solas looks up from the huge tome he has been studying, and sighs.

“There is no need to yell, Sera. I am right here.”

Sera rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out. Mira stifles a giggle, and Solas looks even more rigid, and more tired, than usual.

“Well, fix her!” Sera shoves Mira forward. She really doesn’t want to disturb Solas. She can take care of herself, but Sera is behind her, like she knows how much Mira wants to leave.

“It’s nothing,” she says. She holds her left arm in what she hopes is a neutral position, like nothing is wrong. As if she could still feel her fingers.

“The anchor?” Solas stands, and walks to her, and holds out his hand. There is no avoiding it, and she places her left hand his, palm up. It looks angry, sputtering and hissing.

“When did this happen? How long has it been like this?” She can feel the tickling probe of his magic, and his curious fingertips on her palm. She shrugs. His magic is nothing like her brothers’, and she wonders what they would make of his. The world is a lot bigger, and meaner, than what she believed when she left home.

“Mira?”

“We closed a big rift a few days back. It has been a little worse since.”

“What Mira-Belle means is that she yowled like shit just before. Shit-anchor, that’s that.”

“I didn’t…” Sera is right, and she sighs. “It has been pretty bad. Like it vibrates and it hurts like fuck.”

Solas hmm and frowns and looks a little sad. Then his magic stops probing, and starts washing over her, clearing out the hurt, like a cool breeze rushing up her arm. Her shoulders sag in relief.

“Better?”

“Yes. A lot, actually. Thank you.”

“Good. Please, do come see me if it bothers you again. There is no reason for you to be in pain.” He looks at her then, and not her hand. His gaze is kind, knowing and still tinged with that sadness that lurks inside him.

Whatever reasons Solas had for joining the Inquisitions, she is glad he did. He is the only one who seems to know anything about the anchor. She wishes he could woosh it away, but then what would they do about the rifts?

**“** I will Hahren. You’re right -  I better make sure it doesn’t keep me from beating on things.”

“Any time, Inquisitor.” Solas tilts his head, and returns to his desk.

Sera and Mira leaves, and halfway down the corridor Mira feels more exhausted than she has been a long time. It is like she finally left combat, relief and weariness washing over her. She stumbles, and Sera catches her.

Mira mumbles a thank you, and lets herself lean on Sera.

“I still want to know about the cows.”


End file.
